Silent Admiration
by A-BenjaminHale-Story
Summary: Struggling to manage after breaking up with his girlfriend, Luke Dunphy finds refuge in the arms of a familiar someone.


FanFiction OneShot: Silent Admiration

A FanFiction: By Benjamin Hale

**This pairing was requested to me by Conz16. Not sure where or if I will take it anywhere. Feedback is always appreciated.**

It's been two months since Karen left me. Today would have been our eight-month anniversary. I'd planned something special for the two of us; a nice trip up to Venice beach. I had plans to take her up and down the boardwalk, paying for a street artist to paint a portrait of our immaculate union. I had plans to buy her as many tacos her heart desired. For what better to enjoy on such a special day then one of your favorite foods? I HAD planned on taking her just before the surf, where we'd lay in harmony upon the soft California sand. Our eyes gazing to the stars in a reflection of the time we'd spent with one another. The final piece of the perfect puzzle I hoped to build with her that night.

Of course, none of that will come to fruition now. Two months ago, on an unusually hot day in September, Karen approached me after school. I could tell by the look on her face that something wasn't right. Whatever it was she had to say to me, would not be good. My mind immediately prepared for news on her father, who'd recently found himself in the hospital after suffering a heart attack. While he'd been on the mend for some time, hospital staff felt it necessary to keep him lodged for a week afterward. Though they insisted he was in no serious danger, the news took a pretty serious toll on Karen. She simply couldn't bear to see her father stricken in such away.

After attempting to make small talk, Karen finally mustered what little courage she had to rip the band-aid off. While no break up is ever routine, the way Karen broke up with me seemed somewhat innocuous, in a weird way. Her voice was calm but shaky. I could tell by the look in her eyes she'd been holding back tears for some time. The glass coat before them had been mixed with a lip quiver so slight, the untrained eye would have never noticed. Though her tone was compassionate, her words came off as uncertain. Almost as if she doubted herself the whole way through, leading me to believe without right that she was pulling some sort of got you prank on me put up by her friends.

Indeed, this was not the case. Those two Solemn words stinging my ears worse than a bumblebee. Perhaps more unfortunate was Karen's reasoning, unjustified but straightforward, in my opinion. She told me she needed some time alone. That she needed some space to sort out the problems in her life. She 'didn't want to subject me to it' were the exact words. She did not leave without making sure to tell me it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. The final punch following the long line of jabs she'd so graciously blessed before me. 'you are an amazing guy! I hope after I work things out, we can reconvene. Maybe pick up where we felt off.' I simply nodded to her jab.

Whenever someone tells you something isn't your fault, even if they're the most sincere person on planet earth, you never believe it's true. No matter how hard you try and convince yourself to find it, you simply can't come to accept that fact. Before you know it, your mind begins to clutter with every wrong decision you ever made in the context. Every off-color remark I'd made about one of her friends. Every time I didn't respond to her text late at night. Every fight we had over how much butter to get on our movie popcorn would be analyzed with the finest of microscopes. Picked through with the most exquisite tooth comb. Had I only told her she was pretty just one more time. Had I only allowed myself to spend more time with her even when I didn't want to. Care more about the things going on in her life. Maybe then she wouldn't have left me. Perhaps then, it wouldn't have been my fault.

I was not immune to these thoughts. No matter how big a fool's errand, I knew them to be. After parting ways with a cold, lifeless hug, that was the last of it. To this day, I see her in the halls, smiling and enjoying herself with the company of old friends and new prospective lovers. As much as I would like to believe she wouldn't lie to me about sorting things out in her personal life, I wouldn't put it base her. When you see someone you once cared about, maybe even loved, galivanting the halls laughing and planning out drunken nights with her friends, you begin to doubt yourself just a little.

As for me? I went home and sulked for hours after she left. Even now, two months later, I continue to privately sulk when I think nobody is looking. Not to say she occupies my mind twenty-four seven anymore. Only in times of silence, absent of anything to do. Far away from anyone, do I grant my mind permission to go back to her. Often times I wonder what she's doing? How her father turned out? These neutral placates are far easier to remember then the snuggles we used to share. The cute nicknames I hope she remembers, or the inside jokes we hold close.

Tonight is no different. In the absence of what I'd hoped to be a much-needed slumber following a long day of tests and social obligation, I lie awake thinking of her once again. I do want her back. I want everything about her. Right now, nothing in this world would satisfy me other than the stroke of her knuckles over my cheek. I crave the soft embrace of her lips over my earlobe, suckling with a smile as I trace down her shoulder in admiration.

"This isn't healthy," I mutter to myself, sitting up in bed. Knowing I cannot allow myself to fall into the trap.

I'd been there before. Stuck within the deep, dark recesses of my carnal mind. Running the tip of my finger over the head of my throbbing cock, believing that if I closed my eyes and dreamed hard enough, I'd open them to find her on top of me. Her pale white skin glistening in the moonlight as her soft moans filled my ears. Sometimes I want it so bad I can taste her in Rem. The sweet tang of her juices stimulating me beyond anything.

It takes everything I have not to go there. Physically standing myself up from the bed, I rub my face with vicious repeat. Only two things can subdue my mind enough to keep me sane right now; booze and pain. Once sufficiently broke, I turn and read the alarm clock perched next to my bed. It's just past two in the morning. I have four more hours and before I'll be needing to prepare for school. Beginning yet another day of torture and unfulfillment.  
This seems to be a growing trend for me, my inability to sleep. Since breaking up with Karen, I've found myself wondering in the middle of the night, unable to bring myself back to a stable state of calm. At first, I had blamed anxiety, the stress of having to go to school knowing that everyone around me knew Karen and I had broken up. I dreaded the almost unavoidable apologies from those who knew me. Even kids who didn't, coming up to me and telling me there was plenty of fish in the sea. I'd simply smile and thank them. I had nothing else to contribute other than 'fuck off'

Coupled with anxiety, I convinced myself depression was the second reason I could not sleep. About a week after we'd broken up, I didn't sleep at all. I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. Only under the silent grip of alcohol could I manage to keep my mind in check. Though depression and anxiety quickly merged into anger. A switch seeming to go off inside my head, bringing on this uncontrollable weight within my shoulders, a burn in my knuckles and boiling in my stomach so intense, I could do over one hundred push-ups without feeling a thing. Today I don't know what to blame, like most nights, I wake up feeling not angry nor anxious nor depressed. I guess my body just hates sleep.

Momentarily placing myself on the corner of my bed, I rub a slight pain out of my shoulder before grabbing the first t-shirt I can find from the ground. Pulling it over my head while at the same time sliding a pair of slippers over my feet. Now, I am ready to make the not so treacherous yet highly dreaded journey to the kitchen. Hidden there, under the sink, inside a small cubie I cut out a couple years earlier, sits a liter of vodka my best friend Jack bequeathed me last week. Slowly but surely, I've been making my way through its content, finding that the initial burn on my throat gives way to tranquility. Its unlike anything I've ever come to experience. Not for nothing, it puts me out rather quick.

Everyone likes to think of their home as a sanctuary. A place they can go to be free of worry. Yet, if you ever find yourself walking through it in the pitch-black night, this perception will all but change. Even at sixteen years old, I still feel my heart begin to butterfly as I quietly exit my bedroom door. My head bows in prayer that I do not step on any loose items or stub my toe on one of the boxes my father had been moving in the days prior. What would make this night far worse then already is, would be if I awoke one of my parents or sisters. I may not be the smartest kid in this family. Still, I know full well a million questions would come my way if they were to discover me awake and roaming at such an ungodly hour of the night. It would take about everything in me not to beg God for righteous justice right then and there.

Through the help of steady shuffles and some guidance from the wrap-around railing, I find myself peering down the top of the landing. Thankfully, a dim lamp is located on a table to the immediate left of the front door, illuminating my way. It never ceases to provide the faintest bit of light. Just enough for me to make out the precarious steps I've come to dread so much these last eight months.

Taking a deep breath, I place my left foot on the far left edge of the step, left to right on the steps far corner, not so much I would slide off, but enough for my feet to grasp the unbeaten path. I repeat this thirteen times until reaching the tile floor that makes up our entryway. Once again, I have come to beat the nefarious motives my household steps may try to execute. And all thanks to a little trick I learned from Haley.

Once on the first floor, I slide my way towards the kitchen, brushing past the coat rack and through the narrow door leading into our somewhat modernized gallery. I wait no time in grabbing what I've come down here for. With a little bit of maneuvering and just the slightest bit of elbow grease, I emerge victorious, bottle in hand. Standing up, I dust off my knee caps, rubbing out the dull pain I'd incurred while using them to support my weight. Placing the bottle on the counter, I've grown rather arrogant and now seek more than just some vodka. I want a snack.

Rifling through the kitchen, I find no food I would be willing to make or eat at such an ungodly hour. A pot of chicken noodle soup would go cute right about now; only I'm bogged with the task of having to make it. I Goran with recognizing I would be forced to remove a pot from under the island, pour the soup into that pot and stir it for eight minutes until boiling. Instead, I close the cabinet door and move on to the snack drawer, located directly across from the kitchen sink. To my dismay, I am only able to find a half bag of chips and some dry roasted peanuts. I scowl, closing the door with defeat. While it would have been careful not to drink on an empty stomach, I receive in my efforts and instead move to prepare my vodka. My lips growing parched in anticipation of the delicious nectar about to pass them.

Once my drink has been prepared, and the large bottle has been safely stored away, I walk towards the living room, unscrewing the cap of the soda I'd had with dinner to take a swig. I grimace, feeling the burn on the back of my throat give way to that tranquil feeling I'd come to expect. The warm embrace of alcohol wrapping me in a tight blanket of security. Placing the bottle on the far right end table, I lay on the couch, stretching my legs until they reach the far sided armrest before releasing my tension-filled muscles. The cold touch of leather on my skin is a welcoming feeling on such a warm night. Besides, the vodka will quickly remedy any chill I may come to experience.

As I lay, bottle in hand, my mind begins to trail. Tilting my head just enough as to continue sipping my drink, I am hit with a sudden feeling of loneliness, drawing the smile from my face. This confuses me. I have friends, plenty of them. More acquaintances then even I could count. While I'm not famous by any means, I am well known around the school. Girls still talk to me, probably more now that Karen called it quits. I'm even invited to a party this Friday, where I am guaranteed a lay. This should not be the circumstance of a man feeling lonely. Yet even in the face of all these social accomplishments, I cannot help but feel washed over by a looming sense of abandonment. It's almost as if there is something pivotal missing in my life. Something I just can't seem to put my finger on.

"Fuck," I mutter in disappointment. This is the reason I'm drinking in the first place. I don't want to think about these things right now. All I want to do is go to bed and forget about it all. Frustrated, I take a long sip of vodka, coughing as the last drops slide down my throat. I can feel the sting tracing down my esophagus, coming to rest in the pit of my stomach. For a moment, I am distracted by this, but find myself quickly returned to my initial inquiry.

There is a reason I don't want to think about why I feel lonely. There's a reason abandonment is the first thing that comes to mind. While I can try to convince myself all I want, the answer to these seemingly simple questions has yet to be answered. It is because the solution itself is not condusive.

In times of more significant weakness and an open mind, I will sometimes entertain it. Allowing myself some much needed time to sort through the issues and hopefully come out the other side victorious. Thus voiding myself of those feelings once and for all. On even my worst days, I can convince myself that coming to terms with the emptiness I feel will allow me to put myself in a better place. Maybe then I could move on from this nightmare I call the last two months and head into the new month with higher spirits and even loftier ambitions.

Reconciling these thoughts, a defined crack comes from behind me. Shooting up, I nearly fall to the ground as almost half a soda bottle's worth of vodka rushes to my head. Stumbling, I can pull myself together just in time to find Claire, my mother, standing at the bottom of the stairs, eyes red with exhaustion, hair a mess. As we rise to eye one another, I slowly move my half-full bottle towards the floor, placing it on the ground in what I thought was an inconspicuous manner. I had instead only drawn the attention of my ravenous mother towards my direction.

"What are you doing up so late?" She asks, walking towards me. Her voice is soft yet stern, propping me straight up before her as if she were to be my drill instructor. Her stature is shorter than me, so partly I stand firm to prevent her from smelling my breath.

"I couldn't sleep." I relax my shoulders, relieving the tension as I mull away from her. Desperately covering my mouth with subtle hand gestures in some effort to mask the smell of liquor, "I came down to get something to drink."

Above all else, my mother did not look all that thrilled to find me here. She wore only a bathrobe, white in color. It extends just above her knee caps. Though she had not just finished showering. Instead, she looked as though she'd just rolled out of bed, expecting to come down here for a snack, but instead, she found me, still mulling around like some paranoid freak trying to avoid her. Feeling the fade of alcohol beginning to take its effect on me, I watched as her lips parsed, her soft brown eyebrows furrowing with disappointment. Her long, blonde hair is in a quickly devised bun. Parted from her face to reveal the many pours her aging perplexion had developed.

"Are you drunk?"

"What?" I asked, throwing my hands up, shaking my head as she reaches out to place her hand on my shoulder, pulling me closer to her as to get a better look at me. To further conceal my intoxication, I turned myself away from her, now parallel to the fireplace. To think this would work in any capacity just goes to show how flustered I am. Instead of detracting her from my growing state of intoxication, it only snuffed me out more.

"Where's the bottle?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" I play stupid, hands in the air as my mother pulled me towards the couch, throwing me down to it as I groaned with displeasure. For some reason, I find this treatment to be some kind of brute injustice. More than unequaled to my sin of having a couple sips of liquid in the middle of the night. I watched with a smirk as my mother scoured the floor until she found my soda bottle under the chair. In yet another failed effort to conceal my deeds, I had kicked it there when she had her back turned.

"There we go." She held the green Canada Dry bottle in her hand, shaking it twice before examining it.

"That's not mine." I point, "I swear."

"Luke, honey." My mother's face dropped with disappointment. Almost embarrassed, I was still continuing to lie even though both she and I knew exactly what had taken place here. "Do yourself a favor, and know when to cut your losses." Both her hands clasped the bottle at the base and tip.

"It's not like I'm drunk or anything." I shrugged, beginning to come to slightly now that I had taken a seat.

"Why, are you drinking? On a school night? At two-thirty in the morning?" My glorious mother pulls her bathrobe tight around her waist. "And where did you even get this?" She unscrewed the cap, realizing it was hard liquor.

Sitting on this couch, staring up at my mother as she continues to examine the bottle, I can not help but find myself somewhat turned on. Maybe it's the booze, maybe its the fact that she's holding the soda bottle the exact way I'd want her to hold my cock? Perhaps it's how her bathrobe runs up her leg, revealing her rather posh breasts barely contained within their confines. Shaking my head, I scratch the side of my face with embarrassment. I feel a sense of shame regarding my mother in such terms. Though it does nothing to prevent the rushing blood to my cock.

"Someone gave it to me." I swallow hard, adjusting my position on the couch as best I could. Hoping and praying I can thwart a would-be erection with any distraction I can find "I uh. No? I found it."

"You just found this?" Claire shakes her head with disapproval, pulling down her white robe ever so slightly. "I find it a little hard to believe you just picked this up somewhere without knowing?" Her red-painted fingernails move to unscrew the cap, sniffing the drink before taking a final swig.

"Ugh. What did you mix that with?" Her lips smacked with displeasure, a sour expression washing over her face as she placed the bottle on the far right end table "Tastes like sour patch kids and asphalt."

"I mean, aren't you supposed to flavor it?" I shrug, as she takes a seat next to me, crossing her legs as to hide her goods from me while at the same time holding the fold-over her breasts tight.

From where I sit, I could almost drool over the soft pale skin of her legs, riding up her body towards her ever so perfect chest. Her red fingernails drive me crazier than anything. What I would do right now to have them wrapped around me, her eager smile sitting in complete ignorance of the thoughts circling my head.  
"Not like that, Luke. Mix it with orange juice or some cranberry. Not water flavoring." She snaps me out of

it, my mind having traced off twice now to the fantasy of fucking my own mother. Knowing I need to get out of there, I do my best to inch away from her. Slyly peering down at the patterned carpet, I run through what the opportunity costs would be to mass produce that rug injunction with some lampshades. Anything to try and break my train of thought.

"Well, excuse me for being a little inexperienced." I Scoff, my face beginning to wash red as her milk chocolate eyes come to meet mine once more. From a distance, they hold no effect. Yet as I sit here, locking eyes with this incredibly sexy mature, I can not help but find myself utterly powerless to the whims of her intoxicating gaze. I could almost swear as she lets down her hair, letting to bounce off her shoulders before falling down her back, that she's trying to seduce me. Even the faint scent of her perfume cascading up my nose is beginning to turn me on.

"There's nothing wrong with being inexperienced." My mother shrugs her shoulders, turning her body towards me, resting her head on the back cushion of our living room couch, licking her lips.

"How do you say?"

"Some people may find your inexperience to be, how do I say, endearing." Her head perks up with excitement as I move my hands towards the thin layer of fabric, making up my boxer shorts.

Had it not been for me slouching into this couch right now, pinning my member between my legs, I would be screwed and not in the right kind of way. My mind continues to bounce back and forth between making a move and getting out of there. In my somewhat intoxicated, rather precarious state, my idiotic teenage brain wants me to continue this effort. In contrast, the logical side of my mind tells me to cut my losses and get the hell out of there as quick as my legs can carry me. No matter how horny I may be, the effort is not worth it.

Lest, I remember the fact that this is my mother, I am considering this with. The woman who birthed me? Fed me and raised me for sixteen years. I will admit I have had fantasies about fucking Alex. But then again, who wouldn't want to bury their face in her ass? I'd let her suffocate me to the death between those tits. In the grand scheme of society, having sexual fantasies about your sister is far more acceptable then your mother. Step-mom, maybe that would fly these days, but not your biological mother. That would just be crossing a line.

In spite of these increasingly delusional, off the cusp thoughts, I still want to follow through. As Claire stands up and walks to the kitchen, I trace her ass with my eyes, watching as it drops with each step. I'm mesmerized by her thin legs, thick thighs, and slender, almost done like figure. Every second I think of her, the harder I get. Logic tells me to get up and walk away, but what has logic ever got me other than a broken heart and a lot of lost money. Maybe it's time I stop thinking for once and just let things carry on.

"Now, this is what an experienced mixologist can whip up." She returns from the kitchen and hands me a glass before taking a sip of her own, relishing in its perfection with a smile, "Easy, simple, and not disgusting like yours."

Almost coming to believe this is a trap of some sort, I stare down the drink she just handed to me before placing it on the far left end table with a shrug. Immediately, I am met with an offended Scoff. Its as if my own mother, known for the hatred of my oldest sisters drinking, simply could not believe that I would deny drinking underage.

"You're not even going to try it?"

"Why would I?" My mind is still unable to read the intention of any action "You bust Haley all the time for coming home drunk and praise Alex for staying away from it." I try following the logical progression "Now you want me to openly get drunk in front of you?" Claire nods slightly but is met with resistance of her own, almost pulling back after realizing what exactly she agrees to but instead saying 'fuck it' after all.

"It's okay if I tell you it's okay." Claire nods in convincing both herself and me that this is the truth "There's nothing wrong with having a drink in the company of your parents. The Europeans have been doing it for years."

"I don't think that's true all the way around." I shrug, reaching for the drink in the hopes that maybe if I take a sip of it, I'll get closer to seduction, "But if you insist on it." Claire gleams with joy as the glass touches my lips. Swigging down about half the glass's contents, I nod at how smooth the liquid feels going down my throat. It's far different than the burn of my vodka. Nodding, I place the drink back down on the coffee table.

"I told you it was good."

"Your right." I smirk to myself, "You got me there."

The unmistakable excitement and joy washing over my mother's face as I wipe down the last of her drink are more telling to me than anything else. As I watch her scurry away with the empty glasses to make us some more, I am riddled with a sense of guilt in realizing now precisely what's going on here.

So much for not thinking anymore tonight.

When I started dating Karen, I allotted most of the time I was spending with my mother, towards Karen. While this is not some shock to most, it did have an effect on my rather sentimental mother. One who seemed to take my actions as something of a slight rather than the natural progression of age-hood. I didn't do this out of malicious intent, nor did I have some sort of ulterior motive hidden within my sleeve. Naturally, I was moving on, carrying myself in a different light and with a different intention then I once held. I mean, I couldn't remain a mama's boy forever.

Not to say, I completely stonewalled my mother during this time. I still hung out with her and did my best to remain in connection with her. Being the only son she had, I held a special place in her heart. No matter how old I may become, I would always be her youngest, and through her eyes, ever be the baby of our family. When I broke the news that Karen and I split ways, I could see the excitement in my mother's eyes. Not that she hated Karen or wished ill will upon my relationships. More so, I firmly believed that she believed things would go back to the way they were before we began dating. Returning to when the two of us would get dinner and see movies together. Try out all these cool new restaurants in town after playing mini-golf.

Maybe, just maybe, this is all some wild attempt to bring us back to those days? I'll admit I haven't been the best person to hang around with as of late. Accounting my general disappointment and lacking desire, I'd rejected many of my mother's recent efforts to connect with me. I could tell the last time I said no, it really hurt her, so bad, almost I could have sworn I hear her sobbing over it when she thought I wasn't home. Have I now pushed my mother to the point where she is mixing drinks for me in skimpy clothing just to spend time with me? If that's really the case, I'll tell her right now it doesn't have to be. I'll gladly go bowling with her just to spare her from this humiliation.

Then again, who would I be to criticize her methods? Attribute her intentions or even speculate as to what her plans are in these situations. Maybe this has nothing to do with spending time with me. Perhaps all of this is completely harmless. Whatever it is, I do not bother pressing the issue any further. As with my earlier choice, I sit back on the couch and slowly sip her drink, choosing to stay where I am and see where this thing takes me.

"I have to say it's been kind of lonely without you being around." Claire turns to face me, crossing her legs on the couch. So close to me in fact that I could feel her knee cap brushing against my thigh.

"I've been busy." I speak into the glass, "Still trying to sort things out with Karen."

"How's that working for you?" She presses with hesitation, almost sensing that I did not want to speak of the matter all that much. Yet so overcome with curiosity as to my largely secret affair with her that it seemed appropriate to ignore her better judgment. "If, of course, you want to tell me." She soon walks it back, "I don't want to be a burden."

Letting off a sigh, I down the rest of my drink and decide to throw her a bone. Admittedly this is the first time the two of us had shared anything close to a real conversation outside of passing small talk. Coupled with the growing guilt beginning to swirl its way around my head. I will also admit it feels relaxing to sit here and have someone actually care about what's going on in your life. Although she was my mother, I relish in the attention she provides me, beginning to feel the sexual tension I felt subside to a more mellowed out appreciation.

"I can't help but feel I did something wrong, you know?" I watch her nod with agreeance, "I know I didn't. Or, at least she told me I didn't do anything wrong. I just can't shake the feeling I did."

"Sometimes, things just don't work out." The blonde woman shrugs with indecision, "You can't expect every relationship you have to be a success. People break up with each other for all sorts of reasons."

"I guess I just thought things were going well." I finally open up to her. The first person I've opened up to about the matter since my best friend the day after. Though it felt pretty relieving to get some much-needed doubts and concerns off my chest like this, I remained self-conscious on the issue. "Even when things were bad, they were never, like, bad." I try to explain, "This was all so sudden, unprovoked almost."

"Was there a part of your relationship that was lacking?" I shake my head "Maybe something that you didn't think was a big deal but actually turned out to be something larger in the long run?" I continue shaking my head as an immediate reaction.

While nothing stood out to me as something that could be a potential pitfall of our union, I did find myself brought back to one night. It took place about a week and a half before Karen broke up with me, a sequence I had all but pushed from my mind in every effort not to remember. My face quickly subsided to shame as it reared visible, my eye contact breaking with Claire in remembrance of the cringe-worthy night.

I guess my expression was a little more telling then I had initially expected. After waking myself to this revelation, I felt the soft touch of my mother's hand placed on my leg, startling me from my sulk to meet her gaze once more. Though humiliated and ashamed of myself, I continued to forge on.

"You can tell me." Her voice as reassuring as it was comforting, "The only way you can better yourself is if you work on your defects." I smirk to the reference, scooching myself away from her slightly as a means to gain some much-needed distance. I couldn't imagine the shame I would feel knowing that someone else knows, none the less my mother. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea to follow through on. Rubbing the left side of my face, I cursed under my breath.

"I don't know if it's something I should be telling you." I move her hand from my thigh once more, causing her to bury it within the fold of her robe upon further failure. "It's not really something I've told anyone before."

"Out of anyone, you should tell, it's me." Her pitch is not convincing from the offset "Of everyone you could tell Luke I am the least likely to make a deal of it." Her reaction is lax "I'm not going to gossip or anything like that." She buries her head into her shoulder for a laugh. "For god sake, I don't even know who I would gossip it to."

Beginning to consider it, I weigh my options, stuck within a cycle of indecision, as I scratch the side of my neck with worry. I would hate to embarrass myself, the content of my shame being predicated on the shortfall being something sexual, of course. I am not sure I want to subject myself to that embarrassment. To bring up the topic of sex with my mother, did not seem the correct thing to do.

Swirling within my mind is an outcome I want but do not want. I am met with my mother's gaze. She sits forward on the couch, convinced above all else that I should speak to her on the matter. As much as I may want to withhold the information from her, I am wholly sidelined by just how guilty I am towards the way I've been treating her. The walls of my defense begin to crumble, and before I know it, I am trying to muster my words.

"I guess I just.." I trail off with one final consideration "One night we were, you know?"

"Doing it?" Claire finishing my sentence.

"And in the midst of this. I guess I couldn't help myself but to celebrate before the finish line." I trail off to silence, hoping and praying that she would get the reference as not to further force me to explain the matter. More then anything else, she would not laugh or shame me on the subject in some convoluted turn of events.

For a moment, my mother seemed confused, not really sure exactly what I meant. Following a moment of consideration, Claire shook her head with a smile. This causes me to immediately grab the remainder of her drink and finish it off. Realizing her reaction had not been received well, she immediately put her hand on my shoulder and shook her head, staring me deep in the eyes.

"Okay. It's not that bad." She nods as if to convince me of the matter to no avail.

"I don't think you believe that."

"Luke, it happens to the best of men." She seems scattered, clearly attempting to cover for her earlier blunder on the matter. A silence lasting too long, the slightest twitch of a half-cracked smile beginning to form.

"Yeah. Alright." I try standing up but am unable to. Instead, I am pushed back onto the cushion, held there by both her hands pressing on my thighs. She then slowly moves her right finger in my face, trying to keep me at bay with a slightly condescending shush in the look of my disappointment.

"It just takes some time to work up your stamina." Claire indicates, itching the side of her head, "The more you have those intimate moments with girls, the easier you'll find it to not celebrate before the finish line."

The intense cringe littered throughout this conversation fills me with a rife with concern. I regret bringing this up now, even with the guilt. Though I know my mother is only trying to make me feel better, she is not doing a good job. Basically, telling me that the more I do it, the less it will happen. Which, I guess, is true, but that would be like saying the more times you win the lottery, the more money you'll earn. Not everyone can just win the lottery on a whim like that. I certainly can not get a girl that quickly, even the certain lay on Friday.

"That's easy for you to say." I scoff, "It's not like it matters for girls anyways." I shake my head, beginning to squirm in my seat off the back of further discomfort. "That is if any girl even wants to have me after this?"

"Everyone is different, honey. I can promise you that In my time as a woman." She pauses, sipping the last of her drink before placing it on the coffee table, growing somewhat loopy after the second one. "In my time, I have had very similar experiences with men before your father." She sits herself up in front of me "Guys often get too excited. To caught up in the moment, if you know what I mean? It's like the only thing they can think of is the finish line." My mother tries to explain to my embarrassment, the regret I have now for telling her clearly coming to show, "You don't start a marathon in a sprint. You pace yourself, focus on each mile, and before you know it, you're at the finish."

"Thank you." I nod my head with a distinguished poise, "I'll remember that, mom."

"Here." She grabs a scrunchie from the end table, beginning to throw her hair back. As she stands herself in front of me, I am forced once more to place my hands over the thin layer of my boxer shorts. Watching my mother strut herself two feet in front of me, I can feel myself begin to rise once again. This time on account of her shimmering legs reaching full-frontal, "If I were a girl you were dating, you would take care of my needs first."

"I don't think I need a practical demonstration." I put my hands up briefly with an embarrassed smirk.

"Well, honey, how else are you going to learn?" My brow furrows with confusion, heart beginning to pound as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Suddenly I start to feel itchy all over. My pulse racing out of control, heart beating out of my chest as Claire pours a serving of wine from under the coffee table into each of our cups "You know what they always say, don't you?" She gives me a devilish grin "The best way to learn is through practice."

"So then-" My voice trails off, pointing to her as I try to further figure this out "What?"

"Shhhh." My mother places her finger to her lips, smiling deviously as she holds her stance in front of me. Placing both hands to the side of her head, puffing her chest out in what I can only describe as a way to further quell any thought I might be having. "All I want you to do is sit back and listen to what I have to say. Watch the things I do."

I do not object to this and do as I am told. Remaining silent, I keep my hands placed over my lap, leaning back on the couch in some effort to get myself comfortable. Without a doubt, now I know what is coming, there is nothing I can do about it. Instead of fighting it or only getting up and walking away (the right thing to do), I stay put and fix my eyes onto my mother. This now has nothing to do with guilt or promoting connection. This right here is purely sexual. I could have never guessed the night would turn out this way. Had I known, maybe I would have prepared myself just a little more. My stress beginning to mount in realizing just how unkempt I've been in the last two months.

As much as this worry may be present, I am quickly drawn to a different action, the one my mother is making right before my eyes. She stands roughly four feet in front of me. After pushing the coffee table off to the side, she has a large amount of room to do whatever it is she has planned for me. Her feet are shoulder witch apart, hands on her hips.

The white bathrobe she wears still covers her body. From the seems on the collar tracing down to the center of her stomach are two long pieces of fabric used to tie the cloth around her waist. These are still pulled tightly around her, though I can tell by the look in her eyes they will not be for long. Her hair remains in a bun, messy but sexy none the less. Through the dimly lit room, I can't make out the perplexion on her face. Even without makeup, I am smitten with the beauty of the woman standing before me. Everything from her soft blonde hair to creamy wash of her white skin is something out of most men's fantasies. Not to mention her tight figure is the complete package.

Before I can bring myself to full admiration of my mother's body. Claire slowly brings her out in front of her chest, crossing them to grab either end of the fabric, tightening her robe. I hold my breath, watching as she slowly inches out the knot, smiling precariously in the process. Her eyes fixed to mine, she nods her head slightly to my direction. Confused, I sit up slightly, just as the holds fall to either side of her body. Her right hand clenching the robe midway up her stomach being the only thing between me and the naked beauty right here in my living room.

"Come on." Claire points to my quite hidden erection. "Show me what you're working with?"

Somewhat embarrassed by this prospect, my hands trace down my knees in a nervous twitch. For some reason, I am not finding myself as into this as I would have expected. Maye the fact that the woman I am about to see naked is my mother, or maybe I just lost interest due to stress. Not to say that I am not standing at attention to this entire charade, I peer over my shoulder as if to expect someone to be there. After finding no one, I pull down my boxer shorts and toss them to the side. Holding myself up for Claire to get a clear view, I watch as her eyes go wide momentary, almost as if she were shocked by the endowment I've been granted. Indeed, she does not overreact.

"Oh my." She bites her fingernail, tilting her head with exceptionality, "I had no idea."

"Is this good enough?" I foolishly ask, causing Claire to laugh out loud.

"Oh. I think it will do us just fine." She smiles, dropping her white robe to the floor. Finally, I am graced with what I can only describe as the most perfectly beautiful, smoking hot body I have ever seen. Claire takes no effort to conceal herself anymore. From the grin coming across her lips, I trace my eyes down her soft, pale skin, fixing my gaze before her perky breasts. For someone of her age, they stand perfect in proportion to the rest of her body, firm yet plump as they fall before her chest with erect nipples. I can tell she enjoys my eyes on her skin. She playfully presses her breasts close to her body, strutting herself closer to me with a seductive walk. In response, my hand now beginning to slide it's way up and down my cock.

"No." She points to my mid-section, causing my hand to shoot up in worry, "You don't touch yourself until I tell you so." I nod, holding my hands at the base of my member, breathing heavily as she turns herself around. She reveals to me her tight little ass in a conscious effort to tease me.

Shimmying herself towards my lap, she backs herself to over herself over my lap, grasping her shoulders with crossed arms as she moves to tease me from her position over me. Never once does she allow herself to touch me. Only the heat of her core can be felt by the tip of my cock, now twitching in anticipation of the pleasure I will soon be receiving from it. My hands placed on the sofa, I cannot help myself but take her ass in my hands, moving with her body as I cop myself a generous feel, exhaling deep in anticipation of what's to come.

"You like that?" Claire asks, standing up, spreading her cheeks for me before spinning herself around, now facing me with that incredulous smile I've come to expect from her. The pure joy in her eyes telling me this is not the first time she has thought about doing this with me. Her actions far too calculated, much too precise, and determined for this to be anything but a deliberate act. While nothing in regards to my mother has come to surprise me anymore, I am taken aback by just how sexy she can really be. Maybe more so in the fact that at any moment we could be caught, exposed by one of many members supposedly sound asleep in this house.

"Close your eyes." She orders me.

Doing as I am told, I can feel her brace a squat with the assistance of my knee caps. Placing my head back on the couch, I tingle with sensation as she traces her long red fingernails up and down my inner thigh, causing me to squirm a little in the brutal tease she does so well upon me. Before long, I can feel her hands meet at my throbbing cock, wasting no time as she grabs me at the base, propping me up before her face. I cannot see what she is doing, dare I open my eyes I might get punished for it. She told me to close them, I follow her orders now. I can feel the tension building inside me, the desperation for release beginning to call my name. That's all I can think of now.

Before I can murmur of it anymore, I feel her lips wrap around the head and think for the first time what the inside of my mother's mouth may feel like. The warm touch of my mother's breath over my cock is tantalizing, unlike anything I have ever felt before. Her soft lips moving down my shaft is all I can take to keep from blowing right then and there. With please, I can feel every inch of me be taking inside her, the tip of my cock reaching the back of her throat, causing her to gag before removing it. She ensues to stroke me with the saliva on me, giggling every time she removes me from her mouth. Even refusing to neglect the balls, as her course tongue runs their course along with them.

"Fuck." She mutters with excitement, "I love it." She speaks to catch her breath, grabbing me by the cheeks to get my eyes open. As I sit and watch her bob down on me, I cannot help but relish in just how amazing it feels. Karen had never been one to give that good of blowjob, and I always used to dread her efforts each time she insisted. To be here now with an experienced woman before I am an entirely different experience. I can honestly say I have come to enjoy quite a bit. Even in context, I am growing less and less concerned.

"Stand up," Claire orders me with conviction, pulling my hand until I am standing straight. The cold rush of air over my slabbed member sends a chill up my body, but I ignore it in anticipation of what's to come. Pushing me to the center of the room, she traces her hands over me one more time before taking a seat on the couch. Slouching herself down, scooching her self to the edge, she spreads her legs, holding her right leg up by her hand. Dropping to my knees, I crawl the length between myself and slip littered chin, watching as she wipes the excess drool with her finger.

I know what my task is, and I do not weigh from it. While I have not had much experience providing oral sex before, I am not deterred by the prospect. Instead, I embrace it, grabbing my mother by the back of her tights, grazing my sight before her tight, shaved pussy. Without hesitation, I bow my head, wrapping my lips around her clit to the yelp of immediate pleasure coming from her lips. I know I must be doing something right. Continuing, I vary between soft embraces and careful sucks, teasing her pussy lips with my fingers, yet denying her the pleasure of putting them inside her. I would hate to give her to much joy this quick into the night. I want her to wait as I have to.

With her moans intensifying, I feel a firm grip on the sides of my head, her dainty fingers running through my hair as her moans grow in intensity "Fuck!" She giggles in the face of my efforts, "Put your finger in."

"I do as I'm told, slowly extending my middle finger to slip inside her. Continuing to suck her throbbing clit, flicking it with my tongue, I slowly slide my finger inside her soaking wet pussy. Her moan nearly turns to a scream in the release of such anticipated pleasure. I can feel my cock growing harder, throbbing as my senses overload with the stimulation incurred by her desire. Just knowing I give her pleasure draws my open hand down south.

Admittedly, I slowly begin to stroke it with a rhythmic motion, growing faster with the push of my finger deeper inside of her.

Claire's body begins to squirm, I know she is close. Teasing her lips with my index finger, I force my digit inside her, smiling through my efforts as her mature pussy clamps down on my fingers, her back arching, hands holding my head with an extreme force as she tenses and then releases all in cone fair breath. Removing my lips from her clit, I slow the pace of my fingers before removing them entirely. Examining their soaking stature, I bow ly mouth upon her soaked core to lick her clean, basking in the sweet nectar she's produced for me.

"God, you taste amazing." I joke solemn like finding her reception of my efforts is well received.

"Oh my god." She sits up on the couch, holding her hand over her radiating pussy, still vibrating with pleasure.

"Did you like it?" I ask, standing up, almost sure of my answer yet still uncertain to some extent.

"Oh. I loved it." She turns herself over on the couch, propping herself up by the knees on the far left side. Her tight ass spreading with her bend, revealing to me her amazingly tight pussy and puckered asshole, both of which in desperate beg of me to fill them with every inch of my rod. This is only further encapsulated by her subtle shaking, teasing me even more as I step towards her exposed and vulnerable position.

Wasting no time, I place my hand over her ass, spreading her open even more as she giggles with anticipation. Her head is buried in the couch with anticipation of my advance upon her. I speak no words as I lift my dick, rubbing its head over the soft tease of her pussy lips, forcing myself inside her just a couple inches before pulling out. Her displeasure is well heard but only more a reason for me to continue. You want it to don't you?" I mutter under my breath, placing my cock between her two cheeks, allowing it to slide down her ass to the entrance of her pussy. I hold myself there, slowly sliding my throbbing member inside her to a profound shaking I've never witnessed before.

Once I bottom myself out, I slowly pull myself back, beginning the motion of fucking her. Before long, the doubt and self-restraint I have been lost, and my once low tease turns into intense fucking. Gripping each end of her ass to spread her wide, I ferociously fuck her with an intensity I have never fucked before. My eyesight turns to a tunnel as I dominate the woman in front of me. At first, allowing her to ebb and flow with me to then forcing her down into the couch, doggy styling her like I've never doggied a girl before. Her moans are intense, maybe even moans of pain. But I do not care, I can feel my balls beginning to tighten, my member begins to throb as Claire's moans intensity. There's a feeling of her snatch tightening around me once again, her mutters of reaching climax pushes me harder.

"I- I'm gonna do it." I smack her ass to her deeper moans, the woman now going so far as to back herself into me, my hands coming up as she shakes her body with my cock inside her, reaching her release before slowly sliding herself off me, to which she quickly flips herself over to take me in her mouth, massaging my balls with her fingers, swirling her tongue around the head of my throbbing member.

"Cum." she orders, "Cum for me so good." She smiles, opening her mouth wide for my anticipated load.

Closing my eyes, I feel as Claire stroking me with an increasing intensity, her soft lips wrapping around me. It's simply too much for me to bear. Feeling as the mass begins to build inside me, my balls tightening the last juices from me, preparing for launch deep down her throat. This is the moment I've been waiting for. The moment I've been holding on to for the last ten minutes. Suddenly, just as I feel it coming, a loud bang draws my attention to my left. It's to late though, I can't hold it anymore. I try to retain my focus, yet fail on account of one more bang.

Opening my eyes, I see nothing but black around me. Touching around myself, there is a soft sheet, an ultra-firm mattress holding me. My engraved pillow holds my head. Shooting up in my bed, I trace around with my lost gaze, feeling the sweat pouring down my body in droves almost. Throwing my sheets off, I quickly throw my overs to the side, exposing the thick stains over the crotch of my boxer shorts. A numbness stifled the head of my throbbing cock. It doesn't take me long to realize what's happening. I turn to read my clock; it's just past two in the morning. For a moment, I sit, unmoved in my own mess, almost unwilling to believe it was only just a dream.


End file.
